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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959396">my mistakes are made for you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienscully/pseuds/alienscully'>alienscully</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Beatles (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hamburg, M/M, [david fincher voice] i love the idea of romance amongst garbage, one day i'll write something satisfying i promise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:42:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienscully/pseuds/alienscully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John might’ve acted like he did, but he knew there was a hunger in him only Paul could fill. He learned about it way too soon in their friendship for it to feel comfortable, but instead of running away from the fire he walked towards it, approaching it cautiously but with a desire to burn within nonetheless.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Lennon/Paul McCartney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>my mistakes are made for you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogchorus/gifts">frogchorus</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is so unpolished, I'm sorry! It's my friend's birthday today and it was the best I could do in such a hurry, hope you enjoy it though :)</p><p>These are some German words in the fic that I took 100% from deepL translator, so I apologize to any German speakers in advance, haha</p><p>Guter Junge = good lad</p><p>Grosse Freiheit = street in the red light district in Hamburg</p><p>nutten = whores</p><p>hübscher = pretty</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John thinks of Paul more often than not these days. This country’s air carries a heaviness to his lungs he can’t help but associate with the boy he’s been sharing a room with since they returned. </p><p>Hamburg can be cold but Paul can be colder, like when he steals glances at John on-stage maybe once or twice, then proceeds to not look at him for the rest of the night, driving John mad with the apparent rejection  – and, boy, these are <em> long  </em> <em> fuckin</em><em>’ nights </em>they’ve been having the last few weeks. </p><p>Five, six, seven hours a night, nearly non-stop, “Like a mad <em> rock </em> <em>  &amp; roll </em>  boot camp, that is!” he hears Stu saying  during breakfast, a few seconds  before John’s face <em>allegedly </em>crashed on his  own plate  and he was out to the world for  about ten minutes.  When John  said  he didn’t  remember  it, Klaus said he took a  picture  and when John asked him to show said picture, Klaus said he  took  a  <em> mind picture</em>, a <em>gedankenbild </em>.  </p><p><em> Bloody </em><em>exis, </em><em>fuckin' freaks</em>, John couldn’t help to think <em>and </em>say, because what kind of Lennon would he be if he held his tongue at anyone? No regrets if you only make mistakes, that’s his motto.</p><p>It didn’t matter anyway, a certain someone wasn’t there to laugh – or worse, not laugh – at his antics. He skipped breakfast and fucked off to god knows where (oh but John knew where) as soon as the monkey act was over, leaving John thirstier and drier than usual.  </p><p>John might have acted like he did, but he knew there was a hunger in him only Paul could fill. He learned about it <em>way  </em>too soon in their friendship for it to be comfortable. However, instead of running away from the fire, he walked towards it, approaching it cautiously but with a desire to burn within nonetheless. </p><p><em> P</em><em>retty Polly </em>was how one german bird put it, and John couldn’t help but silently agree.  When you’re cursed with beauty  like  McCartney  was, the  goal  is to make  the most  of it and, hell, did the <em>hübscher Polly </em>knew it. </p><p>On-stage, he caught sight of Paul and Paul of him, again (twice in a nighttime, what a prize!) and John wasted no time pulling his winning smirk before turning to the microphone in front of him and: </p><p>“<em>Weeeeell</em>, be-bob-a-lula, she’s my baby,” Paul.  </p><p>“Be-bob-a-lula, I don’t mean maybe.” Paul.  </p><p>“Be-bop-a-lula, she’s my baby, be-bop-a-lula, I don’t mean maybe,” Paul, come <em>on.</em></p><p>Paul smiled back. <em> Guter </em> <em>Junge </em>.   </p><p>“Be-bop-a-lula, she’s, she’s, she’s my baby love,” </p><p>The good boy winked at him. In a crowded room, it was John who got his attention, <em> finally </em>. </p><p>“My baby love,”  </p><p>He felt his face would split in two and didn’t think the prellies had a thing to say about it. </p><p>“My baby love, <em>weellll!</em>” </p><p>*****  </p><p>They were walking quietly past an illuminated Grosse Freiheit (gross foreign hit) at <em>three? four?</em> in the morning and living proof Hamburg was <em>not </em>  Liverpool and they were <em>not </em>at home and they were  <em> not </em> the same men they were when they arrived last year, with pockets and expectations yet to be filled. </p><p>Paul’s shoulder kept brushing his, and it was making him crazy. It was fine while there were queens and <em>nutten </em>throwing themselves at them and Paul wanted to dodge their firm grips by pushing himself against John (Why did they avoid them? Wasn’t a wet dick in a willing hole about the best comfort they could hope for in this hell(hole)?), but now they were the only living souls on the street and John couldn’t play this game any longer; not with prellies and alcohol running through his veins and allowing himself to pretend he wasn’t a coward. </p><p>“Right,” he halted in his tracks, surprising Paul, who bumped against his chest. “what’s all this, then?” </p><p>The boy looked puzzled.<em> Doe eyes, doe eyes</em>. “What’s what?” </p><p>John rolled his eyes. “You, me, what’s up, McCartney?” </p><p>Paul turned around to see if there was anyone listening to them. Or to see if he could run away from this without John catching up to him. Both guesses were right and negative.</p><p>John raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes as Paul let out a deep sigh. Thankfully, he caught Paul in this exhausted state, too tired to play dumb and avoid John. <em>What happens when you don’t take what the doctor ordered</em>, he smirked at the thought,  <em> god’s blessing, that little pill is.</em></p><p>“Nothing’s up, John. Can’t we do this somewhere -” </p><p>“Oh, bugger off! What we’ve been doing doesn’t feel -” <em> Johnny boy, you can’t let him know you feel things, you bloody  </em> <em> tosser!</em> “doesn’t <em>seem</em> like nothin’.” </p><p>“What in hell, Lennon!” Paul hissed and dropped his voice to a whisper, taking John by the arm. The warmth of his touch (the first in<em> days, </em><em>christ</em><em>), </em>even through the thick layers of leather between them, was enough to send a charge of electricity and renewed energy through John’s body. </p><p>Paul looked both ways, as if looking for something. His grasp on John’s arm was still firm, however, and John felt the need to say something just to prove he was <em> absolutely not </em>speechless from their proximity. </p><p>“There’s no one ‘round, you’ve check-” </p><p>Paul’s grip,<em> impressively</em>, hardened even more he seemed to find what he was searching for and dragged John along towards it. </p><p><em> An alleyway</em>. Alright, John was interested. </p><p>Once they reached it, Paul threw him against the wall and John stared at him; eyes alert, heart racing, expecting everything. Neither of them made the first move, however. </p><p>It didn’t immediately occur to John that the reaction Paul was looking for, was annoyance, maybe even anger. He <em>did</em> throw him against the wall hard. Yeah, <em>hard</em>.</p><p>But it just made him smile.  </p><p>“What?” Paul seemed confused at first but started laughing too. John never seemed to get enough of Paul’s laugh, like he was a court jester and Paul was a king, high up there, with fools like John only hoping to have a bit of his attention. </p><p>“Quite a powerful arm there, Macca. Tell me,” John nonchalantly approached him until their chests were touching and there was no going back. There never was, with John involved. “tell me, boy, just<em> where </em>have you been practicing?” </p><p>Paul’s expression was unreadable and, for a moment, and John instantly assumed he misread the moment, maybe Paul brought him to make it clear, once and for all, that there was nothing to it and <em> what’s a dozen wanks between mates, so what if you kiss while doing it, so what if you hold each other until morning, so what, so what, don’t get soft on me now. </em> </p><p>Then he licked his lips and kissed John hard. Hamburg could be warm but Paul could warmer, when he wanted to. <em> Guter </em> <em>  Junge. </em> </p><p>More so than the feel of locking lips with <em>him </em>after days in a blaze, after nights of stage glances and masked hunger, it was the gentle hold Paul had on him, even now, even as their bodies were on fire and their current, carnal thoughts could not be further from soft. </p><p>No, they’re not being gentle <em>now</em> but they’re not being rough, either. Paul lets John mouth his upper lip lets him kiss, <em>suck </em>  down his throat (Let them wonder who did this to ye, let them stare), swallow each moan coming out of him, as if that is what’s been feeding John all these weeks, all these months and Paul knows it and lets him have it and John can barely stand it. Paul lets his fingers play lightly with the nape of John’s neck, slightly tickles him, making John snicker and, <em>christ</em>, Paul smiles against his lips and John hopes he knows that the sheer sight of it is as much fuel to his longing as the night they’ve spent like this. </p><p>Between choked moans and light chuckles, it all ends too soon for either taste, with Paul fucking John against the wall as he sucks on his jawline, and the feeling in his chest and in his dick are far too good for naming, almost painfully nice and he never wants this to end, even as he feels his orgasm rush through him. He fiercely grabs Paul’s arse and holds it steady as he rides it out, letting Paul kiss him through it until his dick feels too sensitive inside his pants. </p><p>“<em>Fuck, John</em>,” The urgent tone in Paul’s voice is now familiar and unmistakable and John barely has time to catch his breath until Paul buries his face in his neck as his own orgasm hits him and John curls his fingers on his (mate? lover??) hair and nuzzles against him. </p><p>As he planted light kisses on the neck of a breathless Paul and his own senses returned to him, the silence of whatever street they were in filled him with an odd joy, as if he and Paul were the only two people in the whole damn world and everything else was alien. There was nothing but them. </p><p>Paul slowly regained his posture, but he didn’t move away, didn’t stop John from nestling him in his arms, didn’t remove the solid grasp of John’s arms around his waist and much less didn’t stop John from nibbling on his ear. </p><p>“Wow,” Paul’s voice was hoarse, and it made John’s heart skip more than a beat. “this place reeks of <em>vomit</em>.” </p><p>John laughed and couldn’t help but agree and wonder how did they not notice the stench. Probably they lost their sense of smell being in Hamburg too long. Probably more important things in mind. </p><p>“Well,” he kissed Paul’s cheek and held his face with both hands. “pick a better spot next time.” </p><p>“Next time, huh?”  </p><p>John fought a smile, but lost. He always lost with Paul. “Shurrup.” </p><p>“So, Herr Lennon likes the danger! Never would’ve guessed, it’s just not you!” </p><p>“Shut it, now!” But John was smiling so hard his cheeks felt slightly sore and when he kissed Paul again, this time with less hunger but with no less intent, he knew the reason he was shat onto this world was to touch the skin of another man and feel it dissolve against his bones. </p><p>And to have found this man, this soon, this beautiful and this <em>P</em><em>aul </em>...well, perhaps John should start counting his blessings. </p>
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